


And I've Been Facing This Alone

by fireafterall



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I haven't written in a while bear with me, Other, Weddings, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireafterall/pseuds/fireafterall
Summary: Watching two people who have only known each other nine months get married when you've been pining after someone six-thousand years is, well, painful to say the least.





	And I've Been Facing This Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys I haven't written any fanfics in about an eon, but I wanted to practice my writing and I'm extremely in love with these two right now. It isn't beta'd and I haven't written much in a long time so please be gentle with me. All the same I would love comments on what I could improve and if you guys liked it. I hope you all enjoy and are having a a great day/night! 
> 
> Title taken from the Queen song: Too Much Love Will Kill You
> 
> \-----

The wedding of Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer was bound to be an unconventional affair. This was mostly, but not entirely, due to the fact that only around sixty percent of the attendants were aware of the almost-geddon that had nearly ended their world exactly nine months and seventeen days previously. The wedding was to be small, and to take place on the Jasmine Cottage lawn rather than inside a church. All this, of course, because of Anathema being altogether too modern to care much about having a traditional wedding and also because she was a witch. (One might wonder about Newt’s opinions on such things, but, quite honestly, ever since being proposed to by a woman that he both loved very much and considered to be entirely too good for him, he had been walking around in a brilliantly happy daze and was inclined to agree with whatever was asked). Anathema’s own mother was to be officiating the happy event and there would be a small reception inside the house afterwards for the guests.

The sun was shining, the day was beautiful, and a certain angel and demon were running disastrously late.

\-----

“Angel, _ please _ get in the car,” Aziraphale could see Crowley’s long arms beckoning him from the bookshop doorway as he looked himself over in the mirror, “I-- I am absolutely _ begging _ you. Me, a demon, begging you, an angel. It is completely humiliating so please spare me from any more of it and come on.” Aziraphale tried not to smile but the corners of his mouth seemed to curl up on their own. In six-thousand years he had never met a being more dramatic than Crowley. Though he didn’t act like it, the angel knew he could take as much time as he pleased and at the end of it Crowley would still be waiting. It had been that way since The Beginning and he still didn’t know how to feel about it. Or rather, he _ tried _ not to know. Ah, but these were not thoughts for a wedding day! He pushed such things to the back of his mind, as always, and returned to his reflection. Hm... blue bow tie or beige? 

“If we leave any later we are going to miss the whole damn wedding and then, then,” the demon began gesturing semi-wildly as if digging in the air for a point, “ngk, well then why the heaven did I drive myself all the way out here.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie one last time (yes, the blue was perfect, it was obvious in hindsight) and beamed at himself in the mirror before bustling his way out towards the open door of Crowley’s beloved Bentley, the disgruntled demon on his heels.

“My dear, I am coming.” Aziraphale said, graciously inclining his head in apology towards Crowely. He then not-so-graciously continued with: “I am incredibly sorry if I happen to take some pride in my appearance, which is certainly more than I can say for others present.” This was in fact a lie or at the very least a mild bit of malalignment, as he knew Crowley took as much if not _ more _ pride than Aziraphale in his appearance; it was simply that his look was made to appear effortless. Though more than once he had caught the demon trying on different looks and jackets in the mirror. If he had been human in lieu of an angel, he thought it might have made him blush. Most of the time, he tried not to think about moments like that either. He arranged his face into his most magnanimous smile, knowing that, combined with the effects of his lateness and his apparent apathy in regards to it, it would all come off as rather irritating. “Besides, after all we have been through I don’t believe you should need an excuse to come and visit your oldest friend.”

Crowley all but shoved him down into the passenger seat as he rolled his eyes, “You can berate me as we drive angel, but for now,” he reached across his passenger’s body, close enough that Aziraphale took notice, (today was not a good day for shoving down unwanted thoughts, as it turned out) grabbed one of about two dozen pairs of the same sunglasses from the glovebox and dramatically flipped them onto his face. “For now, angel, sit down! Or…” He revved the engine threateningly, “I’ll _ really _ have to make it miserable for you.” He was still smirking at the angel as the car roared away from the curb.

Speeding down the highway at approximately thirty five miles above the speed limit, Queen’s Somebody To Love blaring loud enough that he would have had to yell to be heard, Aziraphale opted to remain silent and contemplate things as they barreled towards Tadfield.

The thing he was contemplating was that the whole affair felt strangely familiar, though it took him until they were much closer to Tadfield to realize why. They hadn’t traveled or arrived together, and the rush had been for a much more intense task, but still. In speeding towards Tadfield with the demon, there was something akin to déjà vu. He glanced over at Crowley, and wondered if he felt it too.

They pulled up to Jasmine Cottage, brakes screaming in a way that was hardly refined, only three minutes before the ceremony was set to begin. Together, they exited the car and began heading towards the house, only to realize that the rather lovely frog-patterned tea set Aziraphale had brought as a wedding present (Crowley had many times professed his severe dislike of it, but, when the angel had offered, he’d signed the card anyway) had been left in the car. They were then forced to turn and walk back _ away _ from the wedding; Aziraphale moving very quickly as he absolutely did not want to be late to this. It would be very rude, and besides, he would hate to miss the bride’s entrance. Crowley sauntered alongside him at his usual speed, although due to his very long legs they moved at approximately the same pace. In the end, they reached their seats, the only two left empty, right as the ceremony began. Though he knew upon pain of death Crowley would never admit to feeling something even remotely similar to ‘nervous over being possibly late to a _ wedding _of all things’, he would have sworn the demon let out a small sigh of relief alongside his own as they sat down, just in the nick of time.

Aziraphale took in the beautiful scene as unobtrusively as he could, attempting to keep his mild panting quiet enough to draw no attention to himself and Crowley in the back row. They were sitting next to each other and they had a row to themselves as the seats were aligned in pairs. It was, indeed, quite a small wedding and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel honored at having been invited at all. There were few people in attendance that he didn’t recognize; Newt and Anathema’s mothers he picked out mostly from context. (He had gotten quite good at reading humans in the last six-thousand years, if he did say so himself!) Additionally in attendance were The Them in varying states of joy and annoyance (Pepper was looking downright irked while Wendsleydale appeared quite happy to be there. Adam and Brian simply seemed bored) and the assorted parental units connected to them. The few people he didn’t recognize he assumed were friends of Newt’s as they appeared to be roughly the same age as the young couple and not at all into witchcraft. Mr. Shadwell and Madame Tracy were also in attendance, the former eyeing the bride with no small amount of suspicion. Aziraphale took a deep breath in and smiled. It was a beautiful day. 

Anathema, as she began to walk down the aisle to a beautiful piano ballad that Aziraphale sadly didn’t recognize, was resplendent. Her gown was an exquisite shade of teal with gold thread braided into it and, oh how wonderful, the gold was in her hair as well! He thought he would quite like to try it in his own hair if he ever grew it long. He vaguely wondered if Crowley would like it on him. Newt was waiting for Anathema under a trellised arch with a look similar to one who had recently been hit very hard upon the head. Alongside him was the woman Aziraphale had pegged as Anathema’s mother. She appeared to be officiating, and the love radiating from her was simply overwhelming. Well the love from all of them, really. He truly did adore weddings!

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two people,” Anathema’s mother began, her voice nearly, but not entirely, covering the soft sounds of Newt’s happy crying. Even through his tears, such happiness radiated out of his face. Happiness and embarrassment, though really that was Newt at his core. The smile on Anathema’s face was one of laughter, presumably at her rather ridiculous soon-to-be husband, though her eyes were shining too.

“Newton Pulsifer repeat after me,” Anathema’s mother intoned. As impossible as it seemed, his smile only grew wider (though his expression remained slightly dazed) with his promises to love his new wife through to the end of their lives and after. Aziraphale knew the beatific smile beaming on his own face was growing as well; so much love in the air, there was really nowhere he would rather be.

He turned to Crowley to see if he was enjoying the beautiful scene even a _ fraction _ as much as he was, but Crowley’s face...

The demon’s face was shadowed, and Aziraphale could see that he was clenching his teeth, sweating. Crowley turned towards him.

Crowley turned towards him and, for only the second time in their immortal lives, Aziraphale felt the demon’s hand hesitantly shudder across his lap and grasp his own. Gently, as if he hadn’t much hope that his hand wouldn’t be shoved away. As Aziraphale clasped their hands together with something like desperation, indeed he would never have done anything else, he realized this was nothing like the first time. That night, on the bus, the two of them so caught up in joy at the averted apocalypse that for a moment, for a night, they had forgotten everything and simply held each other. This time...

His eyes roamed over the demon, almost frantically seeking what was wrong; what could be bothering the usually unshakeable Crowley. Crowley, whose hand that was now loosely holding his. Aziraphale tightened their intertwined hands then clung to him as if it were a lifeline. Something in his lungs began to burn as he felt a wave of desperation rise in him, a sickening _ need _ to know what was wrong, to help him in any way he could. He hadn’t honestly known he could be so affected this way. That he could _ feel _ this much. The angel wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Crowley, what’s wrong,” he whispered, as quietly as he was able. He stared at the demon, at his oldest, truest friend, at the only thing that mattered, but with his usual dark glasses obscuring half his face, there was nothing for Aziraphale to read there. Crowley simply grasped his hand tighter and after staring at him for a moment longer, turned back towards the still in progress wedding. Aziraphale, however, found himself unable to look away. He dropped his gaze down to their hands and wished he could convey to him what he had realized in the panic of the moment. To make him realize that after everything, he would never let him go. Everything they had seen and done from from the beginning of the world to the almost end of it. Another handful of seconds and he heard, as much as saw, Crowley exhale slowly through his nose and Aziraphale felt something in his friend soften, as if despite whatever pain he was feeling, he could breathe again. All the same, Aziraphale didn’t let the grip between their hands weaken. He couldn’t. As he finally turned back to the wedding still happening in front of them, he could swear he felt Crowley’s thumb drift lightly over their joined fingers as if in thanks.

As much as he tried to pay attention, it no longer seemed quite so important, if he was honest. While he was happy for the couple, it felt as if every nerve in his body had narrowed in and focused upon the bony hand intertwined with his. He felt sick in his stomach in a way he hadn’t experienced in his long angelic life before. The demon beside him, (Aziraphale took in a deep breath), he _ needed _ to help him, needed to save him from whatever was hurting him. It was all very peculiar, something in the back of his mind that could still wonder about these things thought, he hadn’t known he felt this way. Or perhaps he had. Six-thousand years was a long time to know someone, after all. A long time to love someone. Ah, another thing not to think about, even now. The angel sighed.

The words, “You may kiss.” were spoken and Anathema let out a burst of laughter as she threw her arms around her new husband and dragged his mouth down to her’s. All the wedding guests clapped, cheering for the young couple’s joy and, to Aziraphale’s eternal surprise, Crowley joined them, releasing his hand to applaud with them. It appeared slightly stiff and strained to Aziraphale though he knew no one else would notice such a small thing. He clapped as well, all the while keeping his eyes on the demon beside him as Anathema, happier than he had ever seen her, announced dinner being served in the cottage and for everyone to make their way there. Aziraphale got up with the crowd but kept his feet planted in the grass, waiting to see what Crowley would do.

The demon stood slowly, then, turning away from Aziraphale, he headed across the lawn and though he said nothing, the angel knew he was meant to follow. He led them across the yard to the side of the cottage, away from the meandering crowd and their loud joy. From behind, he watched as Crowley ripped off his glasses and discarded them, slightly smoking, in the grass. As if he couldn’t wait another moment to be free of them, couldn’t even bother to keep his beautiful snake eyes (Aziraphale hadn’t realized he’d thought of them as such) hidden from onlookers. When they reached the wall of the cottage, Crowley simply stared at his feet, at the wall, anywhere but Aziraphale’s eyes it seemed, until the last of the guests went inside. When the door at last clicked shut Aziraphale dared to reach out his hand and place it lightly, hesitantly, on the demon’s shoulder.

“Crowley?” He asked quietly. He could feel the muscles in his friend’s shoulder shaking under his hand. It felt silly to ask if something was wrong. Aziraphale _ knew _something was wrong. So he asked what he meant instead.

“Please Crowley, tell me what I can do to help you.”

For what was likely only about a minute but felt like an eternity, there was silence. Then Crowley spoke, his voice softer than anything the angel had ever heard come from his mouth,

“What are we doing angel?”

Crowley’s voice cracked on angel and the pain in his voice broke something in Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I-- Crowley, whatever do you, I mean, what could you possibly--?” he responded, his voice growing weaker with each stuttered word until it simply gave out in its entirety. He thought perhaps he did know what Crowley meant. Six-thousand years. They had known each other _ six-thousand years _. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to comfort the demon but the words died in his throat as Crowley turned to him at last. His eyes; there was so much pain in his eyes, but there was a barrier too. He could see the fake smirk Crowley was trying and failing to bring to his lips as he attempted to build back up that immortal swagger. And there was surprise, too, visible on his face. As if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all. Aziraphale could see the demon opening his mouth to say something, to play off the feelings that had been rising inside him. A wall being drawn up to shield an angel from a demon’s agony. Aziraphale thought perhaps his heart broke.

“No, no don’t shut me out, please Crowley, I-- I want to help, please.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, “Anything you have to say to me, is, well it’s okay Crowley because I, no matter what, will never,” another deep breath, “I will never, _ could _ never leave you Crowley, and I never could-- I will never turn away. Not from you.” He closed his eyes now, afraid to look upon the face he loved so dearly, afraid of what expression he would see.

Because he did love him. Of course he loved him.

How could he _ not _love this beautiful, selfless being who had stayed by his side for six-thousand years.

He remembered the books. Books saved from a London blitz by a demon who didn’t care much at all for reading. Perhaps that was when he knew? Or maybe that was simply the moment he couldn’t turn away from it anymore. Though he had tried. Tried, and tried to keep Crowley from his mind; Crowley’s kindness, his cleverness, his _ joy _in seeing the world. He hadn’t believed demons capable of the expression of undiluted happiness that, without fail, appeared on Crowley’s face when he drove his Bentley; Queen blaring, Aziraphale along for the ride. Scared, yes, but not in any way that mattered. Because he trusted him. An angel who trusted a demon more than anything; than anyone. Aziraphale thought perhaps no stranger thing had ever happened.

He had been scared for so, so long. All those voices in his head that bade him to look away from the demon’s beauty, the demon’s joy; those were not his voices. They were Gabriel’s, and Uriel’s, and any other angel who treated him like he wasn’t worth very much at all. But this demon, _ his _ demon, this beautiful being in front of him, had always respected him, hereditary enemies or no. And together they had _ lived _. Lived lives that intertwined the two of them until they became something entirely new. Something entirely new for each other.

And Aziraphale realized he had no reason to be afraid anymore.

He opened his eyes to see, for the first time in his immortal life, a demon crying. So he did what felt entirely natural. 

He reached out and wiped the tears away, his thumb lightly brushing over each of Crowley’s rough cheeks, then his chin. The demon’s face didn’t change. His jaw stayed clenched in a way which appeared painful; his eyes still staring at the woods beyond them. Aziraphale’s hand lingered as he brushed down the side of his neck, waiting to see what he would say. The angel felt he had learned much about pain today. This pain, Crowley’s silence, was a new pain too. He thought, perhaps, it was a very human feeling.

At last Crowley’s eyes stutteringly crawled to his. They stared at each other for a moment, long enough for Aziraphale to realize they were breathing with each other. Their chests rising and falling together. Over and over; rising and falling. Crowley opened his mouth.

“I never thought--” his eyes began shuttering, as if he might begin to cry again. Aziraphale just continued looking. Would have continued looking forever.

“I never believed that, that you would care about me, angel.”

It was a confession and Aziraphale hated to hear it; hated that Crowley felt the _ need _ to confess as if he had something to feel guilt over, hated that the demon had ever felt unlovable. But mostly he hated that it had been _ him _ who had made him feel that way. His own self-doubt making Crowley doubt his worth. He opened his mouth to speak but he could read on Crowley’s face he wasn’t yet through. So he waited.

Crowley took in a deep breath, his eyes quickly darting to his hand which was once again clasped in the angel’s. Truthfully Aziraphale didn’t remember reaching for the demon’s hand but to hold him felt instinctive and he was glad for it.

“In the garden, at the very beginning of all of it, of everything, there you were. And you were nothing like _ any _ angel I had ever met. I-- I was still getting used to being fallen,” he paused to let out a hollow laugh here, “And I never _ should _ have gotten used to it by all accounts but for a long time now there’s been something that made me think, uh, well I, um, thought, anyway, that sometimes you look at me like maybe me being a demon isn’t all that bad.” Aziraphale almost smiled at that but Crowley’s eyes flickered away from him, nervously, the angel thought. As if the part that troubled him was still coming. “I didn’t, well, I didn’t much _ like _ tempting those two you know, I was actually quite partial to both of them, but that was the job and then afterwards,” a ghost of a smile flickered on his haunted face, “afterwards I spoke to you.” He looked up at him now, and there was something soft and deep in his eyes that the angel couldn’t read. “And, you were just as intrigued by them as I was. Not to mention just as _ confused _ by all of this as I was. I mean, you had just given away a sword from the Almighty herself for fuck’s sake. Because you _ cared _ Aziraphale. Cared so much about these humans already. And-- and well.” He was rambling a bit now; his anxious energy unspooling the words as they left his mouth. “Well, you even seemed to, ngk, care about a demon. A demon who you bothered to protect from the rain. And I-- uh.”

Crowley’s hand tightened on his as if it were a lifeline in a storm; as if it were salvation. But his eyes, when they focused on Aziraphale’s, were steady.

“I think that was when I knew.”

They continued staring at each other. A demon, waiting for the hammer to fall, and an angel completely and utterly dumbstruck.

“But that was, I mean,” Aziraphale stuttered, his heart seemingly stopped in his chest, “six-thousand years?” 

Crowley’s eyes instantly dimmed; further even than how they’d been, though he tried to bluster through it, pulling his hand away.

“Knew we would be, uh, I mean, ngk,” Crowley stuttered out, “just meaning, uh, that we--” His voice dropped off as the angel reached up to gently cup his face.

“Six-thousand years,” Aziraphale whispered. Then he kissed him.

He moved his hand back to cup Crowley’s neck, tentatively drawing the demon’s face towards his, their lips pressing softly together. 

Aziraphale drew back, his hands dropping back to his sides clenched in loose, nervous fists. He stared up at the demon whose breathing had gone ragged and blurted out; “I hope you meant it as you love me because I think _ I’ve _ been in love with _ you _ since London at least, maybe longer.”

Crowley stared for a moment, then Aziraphale watched as, after several agonizingly long moments, the disbelief began to fall away. Slowly, a smile broke over the demon’s lovely face. It was a nervous looking smile, still unsure, but it was enough that Aziraphale could feel his own mouth widening to grin broadly back at him.

“You love me?” Crowley was smiling as if he couldn’t do anything about it. “Waitwaitwait, you mean in a general angel way, or-- or?” Aziraphale kissed him again; just as softly, just as briefly. Practically over before it began. 

A tiny laugh escaped him, “do you really think I kiss people I love in a ‘general angel way’ Crowley?” He usually would have made poked fun at the demon for such a ridiculous assumption. And perhaps he would; tomorrow. But not today.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley still had that smile plastered on his face, wider than the angel had ever seen, “I--” He laughed and it was beautiful. And then he kissed him back.

Their mouths on each other’s, Aziraphale pressed into Crowley’s body until the demon’s back was against the wall. The angel’s hands reveling in the feeling of his soft, red hair, in the feeling of cupping his head, the coarse brick of the wall scraping the skin on his knuckles.

Crowley’s mouth was slow, exploratory. Or it was for the brief minute before Aziraphale began reacting to it. The angel felt he was getting the hang of it until Crowley groaned, and began kissing him with more desperation. The demon’s clever tongue in his mouth was pulling on something low in his gut and leaving his mind completely blank. Crowley’s hand was doing something on his back, he couldn’t work out what he was aiming for until the demon’s cold hand crawled under his newly untucked shirt to run his fingernails lightly down his back. Aziraphle shivered and pressed their bodies even closer together until there was no feeling but each other. 

After a long while of this, Aziraphale pulled himself back reluctantly; just far enough that he could look into Crowley’s brilliant eyes and say, “My dear, I am realizing now that we really have been quite impolite staying outside here so long.”

Crowley paused for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, “Ha! Only you, angel, would be out here, snogging someone, after almost a century of waiting, and yet also be somehow worried over social conventions.”

“I’m not worried about social conventions, I’m simply saying that it’s rude! And that, that.” He looked indecisively at the demon who he was still mostly pressing up against a wall, “I am simply saying that, well, I suppose we probably _ should _ head inside...” He bit his lip and watched as Crowley’s gaze dropped from his to focus on it, his breathing hitching slightly, the fingers lying on Aziraphale’s spine involuntary curling. Crowley had said nearly a century, but that was for Aziraphale’s sake, he knew, for the demon, it had been so, so, much longer. That Crowley had thought it something impossible; something he would spend another six-thousand years wanting and having to find a way to be content without. To find a way to be content without _ him _. He leaned in to kiss the demon’s soft mouth again, regretting all the lost time. This round, it was Crowley who broke it off a moment later,

“Waitwaitwait,” he said pushing the angel slightly off of him to ask, “what _ exactly _ do you think social conventions _ are _? I mean you were saying it’s rude, well yeah, that’s exactly what I was saying.” It took Aziraphale a minute to focus on the words and even then he could only respond with a bleary:

“What?” 

“Ngk, what-- what do you mean ‘what’? _ I _ said, uh, something about, hng, worrying over social conventions and you said ‘no it’s just rude’. Well, what the heaven do you think social conventions are then, angel?”

Aziraphale pinched the soft part of the demon’s shoulder, eliciting a small squawk from Crowley as he brought his opposite hand up to rub it. He directed a look of betrayal Aziraphale’s way, then shot a forlorn glance towards the house, “Ah, you’re probably right, angel, and we probably _ should _head up, although, the idea of leaving, well, this:” he turned back towards Aziraphale and pointed a finger, very slowly from his feet to his face; slowly enough that the angel began to regret having ever brought it up and decided he would be quite happy to never leave this garden and to simply live here feeling up Crowley for the rest of time. He kissed him once more, shortly, then reluctantly stepped back from him, though he didn’t drop his hand. He had half a mind to never release Crowley’s hand again.

“Sadly, my dear, I will feel truly awful if we don’t go up and congratulate them, and besides, we stay out here too long and the humans will grow suspicious.”

Crowley laughed again; very loudly and for a long time. “Ha! Oh angel, you know, I feel fairly certain they all know. I mean the amount of times I’ve been asked if we’re dating-- wait do, do none of them ever ask you?”

Aziraphale looked down thoughtfully, “You know, now that you bring it up, there have been quite a few humans throughout the millennia who asked but, well. Hm.” He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Well I suppose I just didn’t really think about it, dear.”

Crowley at last peeled himself off of the wall and, together, they began to make their way around to the front of the house, grabbing Crowley’s still mostly intact glasses from where they lay in the grass as they passed them. He placed them back on his face, one handed, while Aziaraphale fake-pouted over losing the option for eye contact until they went home. They then continued walking until Crowley again stopped them, not even a minute later, turning towards the angel to say, “I mean it wouldn’t be, uh, too bad, would it?”

“Hm, what dear?”

“All of them knowing that we’re, well,” Crowley looked nervous again and Aziraphale wondered, with more than a little sadness, if the demon would ever stop doubting this. Doubting him, doubting the two of them. He hoped that he would. And until he did, Aziraphale would do everything in his power to prove to him that he was never letting go. After all the lost time, indeed how could he stand to?

Aziraphale smiled and kissed him, quickly, once more. (He felt unable to stop kissing him and it seemed truly, unfathomably silly that he hadn’t done it before now.)

“No, it is not a bad thing at all, dear. In fact it is a truly amazing thing, and I shall be thrilled to tell them all myself. Though perhaps, not on Newt and Anathema’s wedding day. This just might be news for a bit later, yes?”

Crowley smiled a bit though Aziraphale could see another question in his eyes.

“And you and me, we _ are _, well that is to, uh, you and I, hgk, are...?”

Aziraphale gave him a smile that he hoped conveyed his reassurance, “Well I _ hope _ we can be boyfriends Crowley. But we could be simply ‘together’, if you like. Or perhaps we could be booty calls!”

Crowley cringed, but it quickly turned to a laugh, “Hgk, no...no not that-- not that last one, angel. But the other two sound… Well they sound better than anything I could have imagined, truly. Boyfriends, ha, imagine that.” Then Crowley broke into a truly magnificent smile as dragged Aziraphale in for another kiss. It felt like a claiming, Crowley’s mouth hungrily devouring his, the demon’s sharp tongue moving in ways that pulled at something low in his gut and weakened his knees. When he at last pulled back, both of them panting, it was finally time to head into the house which they did, the way they would do everything from now on. Hand in hand. 

Crowley had been right, their entrance as a couple went down with barely a remark. Anathema smiled a bit too knowingly and Adam’s father looked at their joined hands in confusion and then with irritation, but overall it barely garnered a reaction. Evidently they had been waiting for them as barely a moment had passed before Anathema stood up on a chair and clinked her glass to call for a toast.

“To the best witchfinder in all of England, my husband Newton Device, who not only found a witch,” she smiled here, trying not to laugh at the joke she hadn’t even finished yet, “but got to keep her.” Newt laughed and looked at her in a way that Aziraphale now realized would have hit Crowley hard before today. Would have left him feeling lonely, remind him of what he thought he would never have. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and turned to him smiling. Not lonely, no, never lonely again.

Newt then gave a toast that was mostly incomprehensible stuttering though Anathema must have understood something in it because his toast ended in the two of them kissing, long enough and fervent enough that the adults began to herd their respective kids out the door. By the time Anathema called for everyone to clear out she had Newt practically pinned against the kitchen counter and most everyone had decided to head out anyway.

As Crowley and Aziraphale walked towards the old Bentley, champagne glasses still clutched in their free hands, they made a toast of their own. Crowley started it out with an old memory; from a day at the Ritz when everything had begun again,

“To the world, angel.” They clinked their glasses gently, Aziraphale smiled.

“To us, my dear.”

“Yes, to us.” 

They drank.

  
  
  



End file.
